


Good Morning, Herr Delta

by Neriad13



Series: Explicit One-Shots [8]
Category: BioShock 1 & 2 (Video Games)
Genre: Delta is a spoonie, Dry Humping, Masochism, Masturbation, Medical Trauma, Other, priapism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-13
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-06-10 01:01:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15280128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neriad13/pseuds/Neriad13
Summary: Delta has a small (big) problem.While being force-fed the drugs that would warp his body into a shape unrecognizable in the Protector Program, he gained mass too quickly for his heart to keep up.The condition is manageable, if difficult to live with at times, but the medication to treat it has a rather...interesting side effect.





	Good Morning, Herr Delta

**Author's Note:**

> THEY SAID IT COULDN'T BE DONE.
> 
> Actually, I said that.
> 
> And then I DID IT.
> 
> Anyway, please enjoy the first-ever Delta smut that I've come across/written myself! It's got feelings. And a lot of...weird, weird research behind it. o.0

“Goooooooood mornin’ Mr. Topside!” an overly chipper voice with a slight Irish accent yelled, much too loudly.

He heard the door slam against the wall and no sooner had he opened his eyes than the light flicked on and blinded him. He groaned, the noise coming out in a deep, gravelly rumble that still sounded as though it were coming from the mouth of someone else.

“Oh, don’t be like that, Toppy!” the voice crooned, half-mocking. “I’ve got brekkie, saline, steroids, plasmids. All the good stuff. Albert, jus’ what in the name o’ God are you waitin’ for? The Rapture? A-ha. Get in here.”

Squinting painfully as his eyes slowly adjusted to the light, he found that he could just barely make out the backside of a wiry man dressed in scrubs. As his vision improved, he was able to pick out the crude tattoos etched into his pinkish arms. The man crossed his arms and began tapping his toe impatiently.

He couldn't remember his name, but he'd seen him before, many times. He was familiar enough to bring a sour taste to the back of his throat and a sense of unease to his stomach. His voice grated on his ears and every sudden movement he made brought a twinge of anxiety to his body. 

He tried to _think_ , to clear the fog out of his mind. But it was so hard to hold onto a single thought, a single memory. He clenched his jaw as he tried, but gave up on the endeavor when it started to hurt. 

A younger man, dressed in the same scrubs as the Irishman, shoved a cart breathlessly through the open door. There was a mop of brown curls sticking out of his crooked surgical cap. Masses of freckles dotted his cheeks and made their way all the way down to the backs of his brownish hands. 

He stopped dead once he made it through the door, the cart squeaking to a sudden halt. As though he were made of ice, he stood there staring, fear, revulsion and pity going to war in the confines of his narrow face. 

“Sight for sore eyes, ain’t he?” the Irishman said, chuckling. “That’s our Toppy for ya.”

The man patted him mock-affectionately on the foot. He winced, wishing for an instant that he could tear off the limb he’d touched.

Albert abandoned the cart and crept closer, moving as though he were inspecting a caged animal whose bars he did not trust in the least to hold it back.

“They…” he said softly, his words trailing off as his eyes drifted toward the heavy chains biding his wrists to the bed. “Did…they all look like that?”

“Weeeell…” the Irishman answered, lifting his cap slightly to scratch the back of his head. “I wasn’t here for Project Alpha and couldn’t rightly comment on _that_ son of a gun. But Beta and Gamma? More or less. Though neither of ‘em got so far as this here demon before they took the bathysphere straight to Hell and didn’t come back.”

“Anyhow!” he snapped, fitting his cap back on his head and standing at attention. “The time for blabberin’s up. We’ve got solid work to do. Here. I’ll mess with his feeding tube, thing’s a coy little biddy. An’ you switch out the colostomy bag. And then I’ll show you…Oh, don’t you be givin’ me that look, Al. I’ve got _sen-ior-ity_ in this here facility. When you’ve done your time, then _you_ get to pass on the shit jobs to the new lads.”

He could hear the crinkling of plastic from somewhere beyond the reach of his toes and Albert appeared by his side, a thin flat bag between his fingers, his teeth biting into his lower lip. He appeared to be having difficulty working up the nerve to touch him. 

“Hey Dil…” he called out, turning back to look at the older man. “He’s not violent, is he? Or else he wouldn’t be”-

“Oh, hardly!” the Irishman interjected, blowing a raspberry and slapping his knee. “Great big sea monster can’t hardly sit upright without help anymore. _Useless._ And a backache to move! Not to say that there weren’t problems in the beginning....but it’s been some months since we’ve had an issue. Still…the chains are a...precaution. If there’s trouble, you run to the end of the hall and ring Security, right?”

Albert turned back to him, pursing his lips.

“…right.” he murmured, the bag trembling a bit in his fingers. 

The boy took a deep breath, bent down and got to work.

He closed his eyes, a slight grumble escaping his throat as he tried his hardest to ignore the wriggling of the tube in his nose. He could hear Dil quietly swearing at it and finally, the satisfying _snap_ of the new bag clicking into place. 

Albert was far gentler in his task. He hardly felt his fingers on his side, though it had been a long time since he had felt much of anything. 

“An’ the saline…” Dil hummed under his breath as he unclipped the empty bag from the IV stand. 

He paused to glance at Albert, who, after he had thrown the bag in the biohazard bin, had remained on the other side of the room, literally twiddling his thumbs. He gave a harsh little laugh.

“Don’t you dare think you can get away without dealing with the urine bag, boyo. Hop to it.”

Albert jumped, scrambling to find the appropriate supplies on the loaded-down cart. 

When they had finished their respective tasks, Dil picked up an aluminum tray from the lower shelf of the cart. It was filled with all manner of little paper cups and multicolored syringes. Lightening fast, he ran down the names and functions of each one for his new charge. 

Every single word of it blurred into a mass of medical gibberish in his foggy head. He groaned again, shifting his legs on the bed against the chains that bound his ankles to the metal railings. He felt cramped. He wanted to move, to feel his muscles work, even if it meant crawling on the floor. 

Albert jumped at the sound as though he’d been struck, turning to look at him with frightened eyes. Dil, completely unfazed, finished up his monologue. 

“…an’ a healthy dose of vitamin c. Can’t have him getting scurvy on our watch. Bad for business, that. Now, the pills in general…those are a wee bit of a pain.”

He picked up one of the paper cups and dumped its contents into a small stone mortar that might have looked more at home in a witch’s cottage. 

“He’s no good at swallowing them whole so what we do is grind them up fine and…"

Albert was looking at him with a single raised eyebrow.

"Yes, Al." he sighed, the shadows under his eyes darkening. "Every single one. Told you it was a right kick in the arse.”

After he’d finished smashing the pills with the little stone pestle, he picked up a plastic pitcher of water that had been stowed below and poured a minute amount into the mortar. 

“Mix it up…” he murmured, taking an empty syringe from the tray and using its needless end as a stirring utensil. “And then, if you’re good like me…”

Using one hand to tip the mortar to the point just before it contents spilled and the other to man the syringe, he skillfully pulled the plunger, filling the tube with a murky liquid.

“…you get all of it in one go. All _you_ have to do is squirt it down the back of his throat and you’re right as rain. Have a go?”

He held out the syringe beseechingly to Albert. The boy looked at it, then looked toward the bed, not quite meeting the eyes of what resided there and then took it, warily.

He held it like a weapon before him as he trotted up the head of the bed, reached out a trembling hand to touch his face and then abruptly pulled it away.

“He…uh…he doesn’t bite…Dil?”

Dil smirked as he twirled the mortar around the cleaning cloth in his hand.

“A thing can’t bite if it doesn’t have teeth, lad.”

“Oh.”

He shivered as Albert put a hand on his jaw and gently eased his mouth open. He glared as much as his stubborn facial muscles would obey as the boy slid the hard plastic syringe past his toothless gums. Gratified, he noticed a few beads of sweat slinking out from beneath his curly mop. 

Biting his bottom lip and looking as though he would rather be anywhere else than here, Albert pushed the plunger with one quick motion.

He gagged on the liquid, jerking against the chains as a sour taste flooded the back of his throat. Albert jumped back in a fright, the syringe nearly flying out of his hand, a paler shade of brown than he had been a moment ago, the freckles standing out even more than before. 

“Ha, ha!” Dil laughed, clapping his hands twice. “Good show, boyo! Ready for the next one?”

He poured a little water from the pitcher and picked up a new syringe.

***

The injections went far smoother. There were a handful of ports scattered around his body to pick from, so finding a vein was never an issue. The intramuscular ones were a quick pinch followed by a slight lingering soreness.

He dozed as they worked, trying to remember the dream he’d been awoken from. Someone had been touching him. Not for tests or needles or teasing. Just holding him, impossibly squeezed into the narrow bed beside him, where no space existed in the real world. 

Their fingers had been running through his hair. He remembered having hair. He remembered seeing tufts of it on the bed when it had started falling out. Whether there was any left up there, he had no idea. It had been much, much longer since he had caught sight of a mirror or had the freedom to reach up and touch his own face. But the feeling of it being touched was something he was certain that he had once loved, though he strained to remember a time outside the facility where it had ever happened. 

For a second, he thought that the tingling in his groin was happening because he was thinking about that. Then it turned into a throbbing pain.

A gurgled cry of alarm came out of his throat, sounding more like a roar than he’d intended. 

Albert shot back from the bed and would have probably gone through the wall with the strength of his fright, had he been gifted with a sturdier frame. Dil stood there, looking like he was going to be sick to his stomach and then…

He laughed.

Tears were rolling down his cheeks. His ears turned bright red. His laughter, hoarse and crude, filled the room like a suffocating presence.

“ _Christ!_ ” he guffawed, barely able to breathe. “An’ the Father and the H-Holy…Ghost! Jesus, that’s ugly. Oh…oh god…”

His laughter turned into coughing. It felt like forever before he was able to breathe. 

“Al…” he wheezed. “Al, help me. There’s cups in the supply cabinet over…yeah. Good lad.”

Al put a more sizable paper cup in his hand and Dil filled it with water from the pitcher. He downed it in an instant and filled it again. 

“Well!” he laughed, wiping the sweat from his brow and tossing the cup into the wastebasket. “Quite a… _big_ problem we have here, isn’t it?”

Albert shot him a look of extreme distaste. 

“ _Hem!_ ” Dil coughed, thumping his chest and looking genuinely chastened for all of two seconds. “Anyhow…I think…it may be the new alpha-blocker Alex’s put on the regimen. We’ve been having problems with his blood pressure. But the thing’s got a…aha, _phhhhh_ , a hell of a side effect, don’t it?”

He could feel it throbbing to the beat of his heart. The pain was all he could think about. He groaned again, shifting his hips to try and get at it, to make it stop somehow. There was an idea in his head that if he could touch it, he could stop it, however untrue it might prove to be.

“He’s in pain.” Albert whispered, stepping closer, but not quite daring to touch him. 

“Yeah…well…” Dil sputtered. “A dick gets blood stuck in it and that’s what happens.”

He threw his arm around Albert’s shoulder and gently but surely guided him to the door.

“Here’s what we do, Allie ole’ pallie” he said, pushing the cart out into the hall with his free arm, “We get coffee, we get whatever slop they’re serving in the cafeteria today, we do our paperwork an’ if it’s not down in three hours, we get back here with a needle. You ever done a penile aspiration before?"

"Ah..."

"Me neither, boyo. So let us both pray and hope…”

With that they were gone, the door swinging freely until it finally shut behind them. 

He roared at full volume, the sound keening and hurt, rumbling through the walls, shaking the floor tiles. The door didn’t open again. 

If he sat up far enough, straining against the chains and using all his feeble power, he could see it over his protruding belly, making a tent of the hospital gown that was laid, untied over him as more of a formality than anything else. 

He wiggled his hips, feeling it knock against the inside of his thick thighs. He strained against the cuffs on his wrists until they were digging into flesh, but his hands were no closer to touching it. 

And then he collapsed back against the bed, all the fight worn out of him. He closed his eyes, begging the hours to go by faster in dreams.

They didn't.

***

Delta’s chest heaved with effort as he leaned against the ticket booth door. The drill dropped from his slackening grip. His hands were trembling. There were pieces of splicer everywhere, bones grinding under his boots, blood soaking into the fabric of his arm.

The edges of his vision were blurred and fractured. He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the door, struggling not to faint. 

But they were _safe_. That was all that mattered. He’d done it, though it had taken every last ounce of his dwindling power to hold back the spliced hordes. 

Sounding as though it were next to his ear as the sound reverberated through his helmet, he heard a key turning in a lock. He nearly fell through the door when it opened and struggled to regain his balance. 

“Herr Delta!” Tenenbaum hissed, her eyes wide with worry. “In. Quickly.”

He shambled through, his legs nearly giving out from under him when he ducked to fit through the door. 

Half a dozen little girls were staring up at him, some of them clutching dolls protectively, some looking at him with fear, some with mere curiosity.

Tenenbaum locked the door behind her and curtly tucked the key into the waistband of her skirt.

“Sit.” she commanded, with surprising authority from such a thin, pale body. She pointed to an unoccupied corner of the tiny room.

He fell heavily, shaking the floor as he struck it, his legs giving out from under him. The only thing that prevented him from laying fully prone were the tanks on his back, propping him up into sitting position against gravity's will. 

The old woman knelt on the floor beside him, inspecting a few shards of shrapnel from the explosion stuck in his suit. It came out easily when she pulled on it and didn’t seem to have penetrated the inner layer. 

“Anything broken?” she asked, her accent playing with the syllables in a pleasing way.

He wiggled his arms experimentally by way of answer. 

“ _Gut._ Pain?”

He didn’t know how to answer that one. He always hurt. It was the thin, persistent background noise of his life. Deep down, he knew that it had not always been like this, but he had no memories of it ever being free of it. 

Tenenbaum stared at him, her eyes narrowing as she searched for answers in his featureless face. The she picked one of his hands up off his lap.

The blood on his sleeve stained her fingers but she seemed undisturbed by it. She was focusing on fiddling with the connecting band of his glove.

“ _Scheisse._ ” she swore quietly, jerking her hand away and shaking it when her finger got pinched in a finicky little clasp. 

At last, she managed to roll down the cuff of the glove, revealing a band of skin so pale that it were nearly translucent. Blue veins pulsed just under the surface. Delta watched, transfixed as she lifted up his hand to the level of his heart and found his pulse with two fingers.

She held her fingers there and intently studied the watch on her other hand. Time passed. The wrinkles in her forehead gradually deepened as the second hand made its way around the clock face.

She dropped her hand, removed her fingers and sighed. 

“We do not have time.” she said briskly, her voice tight and afraid as she rolled his glove back into position. “But if your blood pressure remains like”-

There was a loud crash from somewhere in the distance and the sound of deranged laughter drifting down the hall. Tenenbaum jumped, barely perceptibly. A few of the girls whimpered. One burst into tears and sat there, softly sobbing among her sisters. 

“…this,” she went on, swallowing thickly as she regained her composure. “you will never make it to your Little One.”

She staggered to her feet and hauled a heavy suitcase out from under the ticket window. Inside, it was totally and completely packed with medical supplies. He saw neatly arranged rolls of gauze, tubes of ointment, surgical tools packed into the pockets on the underside of the top. And on the other side, a haphazard jumble of pill bottles. These, she was digging through, now and again picking up one, squinting at the label and frowning. A minute passed. The laughter sounded closer, though its echo was carrying. A tight smile appeared on her face when she found the one she was looking for. Jumping to her feet, she ran across the room and pressed it in his hand. 

“I do not have much.” she said breathlessly, squeezing his beefy fingers around the tiny bottle. “But promise me, you grind up two pills and put them in your water supply daily. Are you able to do that, Herr Delta?”

He nodded vigorously, moving his whole upper body to be sure she understood. 

Tenenbaum smiled, her eyes sad and tired.

“ _Gut._ ”

She squeezed his hand one last time.

“ _Auf Wiedershin_ , Herr Delta _und_ thank you. From all of us.”

He picked up his drill as she herded the girls up into the air vent. The sobbing one had been handed a tissue and given a quick pat to quiet her.

The laughter echoed down the empty corridors, it and the footsteps growing louder as the next wave made their approach.

 

He’d shoved his water tank under the nozzle of a bathroom sink and was slowly filling it up. The little sister had grown bored while waiting for him and taken to playing with the body slumped over the toilet in the furthest stall. 

He could hear her stabbing it with her needle over and over and talking to it in a singsong voice. A long repressed and near-vanished part of him that had not entirely been killed off by his conditioning wished she would stop. The greater part of him supposed that it was okay, seeing as how it was already dead and wouldn’t be carrying her off anytime soon. 

The tank was full, or as full as it was going to get at the odd angle he’d had to contend with. He set it on the floor with a grunt, sloshing a bit of water over the lip and reached for his pills. 

It was hard to get a grip on the tiny lid and he nearly called over the little sister to do it instead. But soon enough, he got it and with extraordinary care, shook out two tiny white pills into the leathery palm of his hand. They were ground to dust with the strength of his thumb and forefinger and sprinkled into the tank like seasoning. 

Bending his arms backwards and squatting on the floor, he was able to get the tank mostly back into position on his own power. But the final adjustment required smaller hands in the space between his shoulders where he couldn’t quite reach. 

He turned to the little sister and let loose a low moan. 

She looked at him curiously, pulled the needle from the corpse and took a few wary steps forward. 

He sat down heavily, always falling just a bit more than sitting and gestured to his back. 

Years ago, most little sisters had learned on the job (and out the supervision of their caretakers) how to make minor adjustments to their protectors when they needed something that a mechanic wasn’t yet scheduled to provide. He wasn’t sure how true that was of this one, seeing as how many of them had only ever known the care of a big sister, but he had to try. 

He pointed to his back again, straining to touch the small red valve he needed tightened. 

Something flashed behind her eyes at that and she hopped to it, scrambling up his shoulders and making up a nonsense song that sounded like music to his ears as she turned it.

When she was finished, she made herself comfortable, wrapping her knees around the sides of his helmet and using the thick, reinforced tubes that transported food, air and water from his tanks as handholds. 

She squealed with joy as he struggled to his feet, making her view that much more interesting. He reached up and gave her a pat, letting loose an affectionate rumble from deep in his chest.

A little ways away, he found a vent, rusted green by exposure to moisture but still a curiously beautiful work of art, its carved eyes looking out at him. 

He reached up and with a squeal of slight protest, set the little sister down.

Her bottom lip was sticking out as far as it would go. She danced on the tips of her bare toes, stretching out her arms to be picked up. 

He sighed, the sound coming out rough and metallic and rested a hand on the top of her head. She stopped dancing as he petted her messy hair, cropped close to her scalp to prevent lice, he supposed, trying to remember what it felt like, the feeling of individual strands sliding between his fingers. She looked up at him curiously, neither enjoying the attention nor resisting it. 

He stopped petting and curled his fingers into her scalp. 

Before she could open her mouth to say something, he did it.

She trembled as her veins filled with light, as her eyes became glowing orbs in their sockets. She was vomiting lightening, disgorging stars. 

And then it was over.

She stood there, blinking at him dazedly, her pallor a tad healthier than it had been a moment ago. Her eyes were clear again.

He let go of her and grunted, pointing up to the vent. 

She nodded tensely, looking as though she were about to cry. Her nose wrinkled at his scent as he lifted her up to the vent. 

He watched the undersides of her pale little feet vanish into the darkness before he turned away.

***

This part of Rapture was blessedly empty, save for the dead. It made scavenging a lot easier and for once, he relaxed as he strolled, taking in the sights as he tried to remember what it had been like before.

He’d reached some sort of faux french cafe when he started feeling it. 

The tingling in his groin.

A memory bubbled to the surface and quickly sank back down into the muddled muck of his mind.

He slowed and put a hand on a nearby table to steady himself. 

The tingling bloomed into a throbbing pain. He hissed through his vents and stood there for a moment, trying to find his wits through the pain.

Hesitantly, he set his drill down and ran his free hand down his crotch. A strap from his harness ran between his legs, restraining the worst of it, but still, he could feel it through the fabric of his suit, twinging as his fingers pressed on it. 

The bulge straining at his canvas skin.

A sound came out of his helmet that might have been a sob, had it not been so warped by his voice modulator.

A memory of helplessness, of screaming and screaming until the walls shook and his throat was raw.

Of kicking the bed until it broke beneath him.

Of a team of black-suited men holding him down while a orderly gave him the shots that would numb his mind and stop his rage. 

Chortling, snorting, sniggering laughter.

“ _Jesus, that’s ugly. Oh…oh god…_ ”

He squeezed it a little tighter, massaging it with the tips of his fingers. The pain chased away the memories. It gave him something else to focus on.

He worked his tongue over his empty gums, being a little rougher with it, playing with it, pushing it from side to side beneath its strap.

He wasn’t helpless anymore. From where he was standing, he had all the power in the world.

He turned, noting the sharp corner of the table he was leaning on and slowly lowered himself down onto it. 

A low rumble, crackling and popping with static, escaped his throat. It hurt. It _really_ hurt. He could feel the point, even through the thick fabric of his suit and the strap covering it. 

He moved his hips, thrusting against it anyway, each new stab of pain strengthening the fluttery feeling in his belly. There was something comfortingly familiar about the motion, though for the life of him, he couldn’t place why. He couldn’t bring himself to stop, either. 

On he went, huffing and puffing, singing a deranged song unheard by the likes of whales, until all the pain and pleasure in his body came into one needle-thin point. 

He cried out, his roar echoing through the empty cafe, bouncing off the windows that looked into the fathomless deep.

For a moment, he thought he was going to faint. The room swirled around him and darkness tugged at the edges of his vision. He gripped the table with renewed vigor, pleading with his body to stay upright until it passed. 

It listened. He closed his eyes and listened to the raspy sound of his breathing. When he opened them, everything was as it should be.

He ran a hand down his crotch. The bulge was still there, twinging with additional sensitivity, hurting as much as it had at the start. If memory served - and he was never quite sure if it did - it would go down of its own accord in a couple of hours. 

He would bear it until then. He’d borne worse before.

**Author's Note:**

> Alpha-blockers were invented around 1976 and wouldn't have been usable by Delta in 1968. And definitely not years earlier before the fall of Rapture, but ehhhhhhhhhh, Rapture Science-Magics. That's what I'm going with. 
> 
> I'm also going with a heart attack as his unofficial cause of death.


End file.
